


A Latin Word, A Greek Remark, And One That's French

by Elenchus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Character Study, Drabble Sequence, First Meetings, Gen, Oreste à Jeun et Pylade Ivre | Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk, indirect reference to canon character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenchus/pseuds/Elenchus
Summary: Grantaire grabs clumsily at Enjolras’ sleeve, arresting his progress past Grantaire’s table. “Σπεῦδε βραδέως, oh great Caesar of our little Corinthe; make haste a bit more slowly.”Three times Grantaire saw Enjolras and wondered if Enjolras saw him.(A ficlet for Barricade Day 2018)





	A Latin Word, A Greek Remark, And One That's French

“Patria!” Grantaire exclaims. “A Latin phrase for this Gallic patriot. Though I can quote my scraps of Latin I dare not ascend to your heights – I mind the adage and will not speak against the sun; _adversus solem ne loquitor_. And yet – what is your Patria that I must cherish it? What is she to the son of nature but a common stepmother, born of false custom and empty law?”

“A beacon to mankind,” says the pretty youth with the ice-cold eyes.

“ _Obscurum per obscurius_!” retorts Grantaire. “A fine riddle you have set me. Now you expect me to comprehend mankind. Will you bring me a plucked chicken and make a demonstration? Or must I fetch my Diogenes’ lantern and search for a true man?”

Grantaire can feel the young man’s attention shift away, like a physical weight he feels only in its absence. He’s instinctively pulled to chase after it, to say whatever he can to bring that cool gaze back and fix its interest on Grantaire alone. Instead, ever contrary even to his own nature, for once he bites his tongue and sits back in his chair.

He lets the hum of conversation drift over him, taking pleasure in the sounds of speech without minding the meaning. The voices run together into a dreamlike symphony; confused and indistinct, yet charming all the same.

A single voice stands out, so clear as to be discordant – try as he might Grantaire cannot force it back into the mass. _Like a gadfly_ , Grantaire thinks, and is annoyed at himself for comparison.

As the meeting disperses, a new voice worries at Grantaire’s inner ear, telling him to hang up his lantern once and for all. The bothersome young man pauses in the doorway, framed in light, and the voice whispers, “ _Ecce, homo_.”

* * *

Grantaire grabs clumsily at Enjolras’ sleeve, arresting his progress past Grantaire’s table. “Σπεῦδε βραδέως, oh great Caesar of our little Corinthe; make haste a bit more slowly.”

“What would you?” asks Enjolras. His attention is clearly elsewhere; Grantaire wishes he could twine his fingers around Enjolras’ thoughts as easily as he had his sleeve.

_Look at me_ , he does not say. “Speak to me, that I may listen.”

Enjolras is somber as ever, a sober priest of a Bacchic age. “I would rather speak _with_ you. But I doubt you would appreciate the matter.”

“I always appreciate your matter.” Grantaire means to make it a jest, to leer and laugh and refill his empty glass. Perhaps the hour is too late; perhaps he is intoxicated from fumes of borrowed dreams. The world seems somehow gentle, and Grantaire doesn’t want to disappoint it. “Tell me about tomorrow. Is it beautiful?”

Enjolras nods. Doubtless it is only the candlelight that makes his face seem to soften. “Yes. Cannot you see it?”

Grantaire idly toys with his glass, lifts it up to the level of his eye. The room distorts; Enjolras alone remains clear. “I see,” Grantaire replies. “But through a glass, darkly.”

* * *

There is a moment of deafening silence. Grantaire cannot say whether he is in total darkness or blinding light. His senses are muddled; the world is an enigma.

The next moment brings clarity. Grantaire takes the scene in at a glance. Enjolras. Guardsmen. Rifles. It’s over. Only one piece of this puzzle doesn’t fit: Grantaire himself.

He sees Enjolras spot him; their eyes meet for an instant, then Enjolras looks away.

For once, Grantaire understands Enjolras’ expression. Not rejection – permission. Grantaire may live; Enjolras will protect him. Absolve him.

Light banishes doubt. Grantaire sees clearly. “Vive la République! J'en suis.”

**Author's Note:**

> A triple drabble, double drabble, and drabble respectively.
> 
> [Check out this beautiful art on tumblr by deboracabral!](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/post/174633767923/tell-me-about-tomorrow-is-it-beautiful-i-had)
> 
> References and translations:
> 
>   * _Adversus solem ne loquitor_ : "Do not speak against the sun" (i.e. don't deny the obvious)
>   * _Obscurum per obscurius_ : "[Explaining] the obscure by the more obscure"
>   * Plucked chicken: After Plato's Academy defined a human being as "featherless biped," Diogenes the Cynic produced a plucked chicken and proclaimed, "Here is the Plato's man!"
>   * Diogenes' Lantern: Diogenes the Cynic allegedly wandered around in broad daylight with a lit lantern. When asked what he was doing, he replied, "Searching for a human being."
>   * Gadfly: For Grantaire, the immediate association would be to Socrates, gadfly of Athens. That's the comparison he's annoyed about.
>   * _Ecce, homo_ : "Behold, the man." " _Homo_ " is the Latin translation of the same word used in the two Diogenes stories mentioned above for "human being."
>   * Σπεῦδε βραδέως ( _speude bradeos_ ): "Make haste slowly." Said to be a favorite saying of Augustus Caesar. Translated into Latin as " _festina lente_."
>   * "Though a glass, darkly": A quotation of Paul from 1 Corinithians. Originally in Greek.
>   * "Vive la République! J'en suis.": "Long live the Republic! I'm one of them." Grantaire's almost-final words in the Brick.
>   * The title is a lyric from the Gilbert & Sullivan opera _Iolanthe_ , in a context that has absolutely nothing to do with any of this. Oh well.
> 



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